


Crush Me Like a Flower

by orphan_account



Category: Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Action, Doctor ten's last days, Eventual Smut, Heavy eventual smut, Hot Sex, Hot sex in the tardis action, M/M, One Night Stand, Protective Sherlock, Romance, Rough Sex, Sub Castiel, Team Free Will, Ten/Harkness non-relationship, Time Travel, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor's final weeks turned into a blur of new faces and new looks on the same faces after picking up an unlikely companion; Sherlock Holmes. Little did the old man know that he would be seeing his old friend one last time before he dies and the world reaches it's end. </p><p>The Winchesters are up to their usual antics among angels and demons but little do they know every aspect of their life has been written in time forever, and someone is trying to rewrite their history.</p><p>Long before Sherlock Holmes met Watson he toured the stars he knows so little about. After swearing the rest of his life to normalcy he finds it isn't quite that easy to give up the universe as originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush Me Like a Flower

**Author's Note:**

> No Warnings apply to this chapter

Sherlock Holmes was a lean man, one could even go so far as to say he was quite tall for a city man. He trudged through the dreary depths of London, staring intently at his feet as he walked. His focus lingered around his peripherals, taking note of his surroundings should they become hostile. Thoughts raced through his head at the speed of light, connecting simple issues in the surrounding areas. He could spot the place where a man stands every evening outside his flat for a smoke, right down to a mouse’s favorite dumpster. Irrelevant. These were all discarded as quickly as noticed and catalogued.

The world is full of so many boring and unimportant things. He had found most people can not decide what is important for their existence and what is not. They leave all the useless things in the world in their head, unable to delete them, unable to access them. Physically, Sherlock knew he could only access roughly twenty percent of his brain power but it was what he did with that small number that mattered.

People were boring, useless, and the worst of all, predictable. By studying others and understanding that one action leads to the next in a pattern it becomes easy to pull the string and unravel the blanket of humans in the world.

Stop.

There was something different, unexpected. Just out of the corner of his eye he spotted it nearly two blocks away. Walking a different path along London for his evening stroll each day other would not expect such a memory. No. This street had changed and in the strangest of ways.

“Police box...” Sherlock muttered aloud to no one. The information surged to the surface of his brain instantly; 1920s invention shortly after the telephone. Relevant. Obviously not a model before 1930 based on the color and dimensions. Irrelevant. Phone out of order judging on the lack of oil wear from fingerprints. Relevant. It appears to have been signed, possible fire damage, Shows it has been moved recently. Unknown relevance. Placing of door tells it was not made for the access of others, there is not a handle on the door but the key has been operated recently. Relevant. No footprints in or around the Police Box except for his own. Controversy, key has been used recently though there are no footprints. Relevant. Conclusion; Someone is inside of the fake Police Box at this moment. Only one person judging by the outside dimensions. Possible level of danger is low. Prank? Too foolish to be a prank. No one would try to use the box with cell phones now a days.

He taps his knuckle lightly to the door. Hollow. The sound echoed for a split second. The inside is made of a metal or titanium alloy. Strange. He dashed a finger alongside the blue paint plastered to the wood. It felt oddly warm and almost seemed to reverberate beneath his skin. Zero. No conclusions, nor was he close to a speculation.

Not only did this bother Sherlock Holmes but it flat out disturbed him. Being faced with the unknown had always frightened him, even when he was a child. Each day he dedicated his life to understanding everything, some told him that it was the worst thing he could do for himself. He was distancing himself from humanity, they told him. This was of course, irrelevant, as most things are in this boring and dreary world.

The double doors swung open, revealing the silhouette of a lean man. This was different. This was something new and unscripted. He didn’t foresee this to happen, and that was good. Exciting.

“Oh.” The man spoke with a regular tongue. Possibly hiding a scottish tone to his way of speech. His long coat and suit suggested a possible occasion he may be attending, but no, this is now what Sherlock focused on. It was what the man was hiding in the box, behind the doors he quickly shut and stood in front of to block his view. The interior of the Police box, though Sherlock had only seen for a second, almost appeared bigger on the inside. Impossible. An illusion, of course. A projection. Con Artist. Magician. Traveling circus act? No, that is foolish. “Well, I did not see you out here.” He looks nervous, hiding something behind the doors, obviously.

It was then that Sherlock saw the man’s eyes, just for a split second. The amount of information he absorbed from that simple glance was incredible. If he were less of a human his head would of hurt, but the information was quickly stored to prevent overload. This man was old. This man was wise. The only explanation to what Sherlock had absorbed was that this man was just like him; brilliant. He felt a small pang of jealousy, the feeling of needing to prove himself, show off. It was almost like looking into a mirror, except for one thing. One small thing that sent up question marks and red flags. And... Sherlock had no idea what it was.

“I apologize,” The man spoke again, straightening his jacket. “Just a looking about for old police boxes like this one.” He puts a hand on the side of it, touching it as if he was putting a hand on an old friend. “Yeah, this one here has served it’s purpose. We’ll have dispatch pick ‘er up tomorrow.” The man had changed his accent ever so slight from when he first spoke. It was a lie, of course, though the tell tale signs of a regular lie were absent from his face. Sherlock’s look of questioning  prompted the man to pull something out of his jacket. “I’m John Smith, with the department.” He flips open the small leather casing and reveals a police badge. “Plainclothes.” He adds quickly, as if rehearsed.

Sherlock watched the man for a split seconds before making any intention of speaking. “Plainclothes, you said?” He inquired, taking the badge from the stranger’s hand. “Your badge, yes?” He spoke quickly, eager to get to the point. Genius. Old eyes. This man was a mystery and it excited Sherlock, he traced his fingers over the... paper. It was paper. Unlaminated. He took a second look at the paper, tracing his fingers over it lightly. Right before his eyes the badge faded beneath his touch, transforming into regular paper. Astounded by the trick Sherlock grinned. “There is nothing on the paper.” He stated simply, handing it back to the man. “What are you? Magician? Scientist? Con Artist?” He started off his rough guesses. “Oh please do just tell me, it’s boring to figure it out on my own.” That was a lie. He wanted to figure it out but the excitement drove him to find the answer, the journey to find it became unimportant.

The man let a faint smile cross his face, taking back the blank paper. “I’m The Doctor. Only here for a quick pit stop, then I’ll be on my way. Not your place I parked in front is it?” He asked, motioning to the small flat to his right.

Sherlock’s mind raced. The Doctor. Stage name? No, chosen name. It was his name but it was more than that. It was... who he was. Not what or just what he called himself.Sherlock felt as if this was the Doctor. Not a title or anything of the sort. No. This man was different, but how? “No.” He responded flatly, his eyes darting up and down the man, they kept lingering on his facial features. How could a man look old and young at the same time? These questions were getting him nowhere. “The Police box is a relatively old model for being in such good shape. I don’t recall seeing it here before.”

“Haven’t?” The Doctor smiled. “I have been around. Big city. Big universe.” He shrugged and turned to lock the Police box door, looking ready to move on from this conversation.

No. Of course! Police box. The old rumors, when strange things happen the box shows up. Mycroft had a team on it awhile ago, but strangely when he questioned his brother he did not seem to have a memory of searching for it. This man was The Doctor, man of the Police box. This man was dangerous and there was no way Sherlock was letting him go see to anything strange without him. Sherlock was about to speak again when a low humming sound emitted from the box, the noise grew louder and it almost sounded like a car backfiring. Sherlock made no move to look or act surprised, the only thing strange for blocks was this man.

The Doctor seemed to forget Sherlock was there and found himself rushing inside. “No!” He called out, dashing inside. Smoke poured from the top of the box, obscuring Sherlock’s view. Though, by listening he found that the Doctor’s footsteps echoed. Conclusion; it is bigger on the inside. Advanced physics and science, he had wondered if this was ever possible and so it was. It was right in front of him. Sherlock was facing a true genious. He made no hesitation to step inside the smoke filled box after the Doctor, letting out a cough he waved at the smoke in the air.

“Come on!” The Doctor was frantically rushing over something just ahead of Sherlock in the smoke. It smelled like a simple electric fire, though the structure creaked around him in what almost felt like agony. “No no, I know!” The Doctor clanked something metal against another metal thing. “Did that work?” He was talking to himself, of course he was brilliant. There was another loud noise and then frantic running. “Guess not!” Another loud sound and the smell ceased instantly, Sherlock had decided it was closer to burning rubber. “There, all fixed!” The Doctor said happily through the smoke. “Fans on!” He called, the smoke getting sucked away quickly.

He was smiling brightly until he saw Sherlock standing in the door. His eyes were darting around the room in awe rather than confusion as usual. For once  in his entire life, he was speechless. Not a word to say, not a conclusion to make. No. This... This was pure brilliance. “Dimensionally...transcendental....” He mused. His mind wasn’t racing with thought, it was calm. There wasn’t anything he understood. Looking everywhere all he saw was confusion and it was startlingly... peaceful. Not thinking. Not making confusions. How boring and yet... different. Different is exciting. “Bigger on the inside. Intriguing. Either you sir are a genius in our modern age... could you be...” He shook his head. Impossible, time goes in a straight line... it couldn’t be...

The Doctor seemed to glow at the second bit of his comment, he quickly decided to turn his machine on. It pulsed and hummed faintly, making all sorts of faint ticks along with a number of unrecognizable sounds, most out of Sherlock’s range of hearing. The Doctor scanned over a screen not too far away from Sherlock. He looked impressed, letting out a low whistle. “For a human youve got quite a bit of brain activity. haven’t seen that since Da Vinci!” He paused for a second, “Einstein as well, he was hell of laugh.” He chuckled over the fond old memory, about to speak before Sherlock cut him off.

“Time traveler.” Sherlock’s heart rate soared at the thought, the excitement, the adrenaline.

“You got it.” The Doctor looked about as excited as Sherlock. “This is a TARDIS, Time-”

“And Relative Dimensions in Space.” Sherlock finished quickly, now comfortable with his surroundings, he stepped towards the Doctor, scanning the area. “Meant to be piloted by five to six people. Your crew is absent or non-existent, and looks to have been for a long time. Dead? No, long gone. You are either the last of the crew or a particularly brilliant human with ancient and or futuristic technology. But please, a human could not possibly man this himself. The way you spoke of it as using a specific pronoun tells me you are attached to this machine the way a man loves his ship. There was never a crew, thief maybe? Yes. You are breathing slower than the average person, possibly due to the fact you have an excellent cardio vascular system, but no, it is too excellent. Breathing nearly ten times a minute, you should be dead. You... are not human. The only logical explanation is that you have two hearts, not one, which would compensate for the fact of needing to breathe less, prolonging life as well as stamina. Though, how completely irrational the conclusion... today has not been the clearest, would you agree?”

Sherlock did not expect The Doctor to smile the way he was, he even clapped a bit. “Brilliant. Now, the only way for you to know so much is that you are insanely smart, it seems too smart. You're Not human at all, are you?” The Doctor’s expression hardened and the doors slammed shut behind Sherlock. He did not even so much as flinch when a bright blue light was suddenly shoved in his face. “Now, whoever or whatever you are I’m not sure, but if you wish any harm to the people on the planet I assure you, I will be less than pleasant.” He drew back.

Sherlock looked amused, intrigued almost. “Not human? That is your conclusion, a poor one at that. Your age is getting to you.”

The Doctor looked over the screen carefully, perplexed. “I have yet to meet you formally then, perhaps... Harkness? Do you know Jack Harkness? Torchwood? The Nobles?” He inquire, now keeping a safe distance.

“None of the above, I’m afraid.” He noted the names The Doctor is related to, meaning to check them out later. “I assure you, I don’t know you, Doctor, I observe. The only thing in this room I do not understand is you.”

The Doctor relaxed. “Go on...?”

“Both young and old. Explain that?”

The old man leaned against the central part of the TARDIS, looking sad as he recalled an especially old memory. “I am a Time Lord of Gallifrey. The last Time Lord.”

Sherlock nodded, “My condolences.”

The Doctor turned to his pride and joy, “Well, anywhere in the universe, anywhere you want.” Her started around the controls, flicking some on, flicking some off with skill. “Where to?” The Doctor asked, and Sherlock answered instantly.

“Sherlock, wake up.”

The genius blinked a few times before staring up at his flatmate, John Watson. He didn’t bother reading his friend, he knew what was there, everything in place as usual. Familiarity, flat, warm, home. John was handing him tea, Sherlock took it with a short nod of thanks, his mind wandering. It hadn’t been so long ago that he was alone, he found himself smiling a lot more now.

Of course it didn’t take long for the memories to fade as long as Sherlock didn’t concentrate on them. He closed his eyes as he sipped his tea, stuffing the memories into the far corner of his mind. He didn’t want to think about that time anymore, too complex. This was his life now.

The genius only looked up when John pulled his coat on over his shoulders. “Going out?” Sherlock asked, knowing exactly what John was to say. The only reason for his inquiry was to stall him, he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to do this.

John smoothed the edges of his coat around him. “Yes, not a problem?” He spoke sarcastically, not about to let Sherlock persuade him to stay home again.

“Date.” Sherlock let the word roll off his tongue, coming off more harsh than he intended. John gave him a strange look but Sherlock cut him off before he spoke again. “Second date. You are going to be sitting because you didn’t take the right shoes for walking around and judging by the time you are going to see a movie then go off to dinner of which you will pay for with your months savings left over from buying your last seasonal jacket. For some reason you aren’t wearing it, perhaps she made a remark about it and you want to please her.” he droned, bored as hell.

John had crossed his arms, waiting for Sherlock to finish. “Anything else?” He rolled his eyes.

Sherlock took onto his snarkiness and fed on it. “Yes.” The taller man stood, “I will be coming.” He grabbed his coat starting to push past his annoyed flatmate.

“What for?!” John spoke quickly. He trailed Sherlock down the steps, taking two at a time.

Ah, annoyance. Of course he would show that. Ruffling John’s feathers was an amusing thing to do but today it felt like something different. Sherlock felt a pang in his lower gut, unknowing to what he was feeling he acted on one thought racing through his mind.

Bored.

Sherlock was going to answer when he felt a slight draft upon reaching downstairs. Someone else was here, Ms. Hudson had just opened the door. Not John’s date, he was going to meet her there as usual. To avoid a confrontation with his flatmate, for sure. Commotion nearby caught his attention and John was oblivious.“Sherlock you can’t just come along!” John piped up behind him but his words hit deaf ears, Sherlock was not focused on his flatmate.

“No no! You don’t just go barging into someone’s home, running about like a burglar demanding for things!” Ms Hudson’s scolding shots came from the room down the hall,  “Why, you-” Her voice was cut off by a sudden click and a gasp from the elderly woman.

John caught on a step behind Sherlock. “Ms. Hudson?!” He called, taking long strides to the front of the respectable flat, John on his heels.

A man just over thirty had a shotgun pointed at their beloved land lady. Short hair, gruff appearance. Soldier of some sort, distressed. He was-

“You.” His low voice growled, turning on Sherlock like a cat would to eye it’s prey. He was acting on emotion, one could clearly see through the intense pain in his eyes. He hand shook as he cocked the gun, aimed directly at Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock stayed perfectly still, shoving John back to keep him from getting between him and the man with the gun. He had no time to react or to study the situation, anyone else’s brain would have froze or panicked but Sherlock relied on that one word to keep him going. Different. This was different, his word had changed. Different. What was his word? His mind did panic, Sherlock did freeze and stare directly into the barrel of the gun.

“Dean, I really am very sorry about this.” Right before their eyes someone in a light tan trench coat appeared from oblivion and took the man with the gun. A hand on the side of his head and in a bright flash they were both gone as if an illusion.

Their departure left three very confused friends standing now alone in the room together, unmoving, holding their breath. The first few seconds that seemed like days passed and they finally exchanged looks of pure shock, but no one looked as shocked and excited as Sherlock Holmes.

...

John.

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock (TV): Before The Fall  
> Doctor Who: Before Doctor Eleven  
> Supernatural: AU Castiel gets out of Purgatory with Dean
> 
>  
> 
> [Give my blog a look!](http://deansrighttesticle.tumblr.com/)


End file.
